


Casablanca on Ice

by richardnixon



Category: Casablanca (1942), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Crossover, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Slow Burn, Tragic Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richardnixon/pseuds/richardnixon
Summary: It's the middle of WWII in Casablanca, Morocco. An American expatriate, Victor, makes a generous living for himself as a nightclub owner, and everything changes one night when his ex-flame Yuri walks into his club.This is Casablanca on Ice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yuri arrives in chapter four. ;)

_With the coming of the Second World War, many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, or desperately, toward the freedom of the Americas. With this, came the untimely destination of Casablanca. Lisbon became the great embarkation point. But not everybody could get to Lisbon directly, and so, a tortuous, roundabout refugee trail sprang up. Paris to Marseilles, across the Mediterranean to Oran, then by train or auto, or foot, across the rim of Arica to Casablanca in French Morocco. Here, the fortunate ones, through money, or influence, or luck, might obtain exit visa and scurry to Lisbon, and from Lisbon to the New World. But the others wait in Casablanca — and wait —and wait — and wait._

A manhunt was happening in the weathered streets of Casablanca. Men scrambled, shooting through the streets. The clack ofpointed-toe shoes reverberated through the marketplace. Wicker baskets and plants were knocked aside and loose beads clattered. The chickens ran like scared men, and the men ran like headless chickens. The French police ran, too, searching the streets for refugees, liberals, and anyone with a penchant for revolt. Two German couriers carrying classified documents had been recently murdered on a train, and potential suspects littered the streets. 

Victor's Café Américain lay untouched by the chaos outside. The nightclub had catapulted into notoriety in recent years, led by its enigmatic owner, Victor Nikiforov. Anyone who was anyone found themselves here at some point or another. The club was home to Europeans in dinner jackets, Moroccans dressed in silk, Naval Officers, members of the Foreign Legion, and beautiful women of every nationality. Victor’s hard work and charisma had turned the nightclub into a gold-plated melting pot of cultures. While Victor’s Café Américain entertained the elegant and successful, it didn't discourage the criminal either. 

The ornate gold decor, grandiose Moroccan design, and elegantly beaded lamp shades gave the place a feminine feel, contrasted by the harsh neon sign above the door and pungent smell of tobacco. This paradox mirrored the owner himself. Victor was a mysterious man, in an unsubtle way. He was a man who commanded attention. The club ignited at night from the flame of his match, and was extinguished with a similar gusto. He was unwavering in his power, dictating with a delicate flick of his wrists. 

Victor sat in the gambling lounge, fidgeting his rings as he contemplated his next chess move. He wanted this move to be good. More pressingly, he wanted it to surprise the other player. Sighing, he slid his king up one square and away from the other player’s queen. It wasn’t the most favorable move, but it was what needed to be done.

Looking around the lounge, Victor noticed a young, small man strutting toward his table.  “Why, Yurio! How are you this fine evening?”

“Better than I’ve been in a long time,” Yurio replied as he sat down. An air of smugness surrounded him as he took a tight-lipped drag from his cigarette. He leaned closer to Victor. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the German couriers, right?” 

Victor paused and peered down at the man sitting in front of him. “That might sound familiar.” He smiled. “Has it become an interest to you?”

Annoyed, Yurio leaned back in his seat. “I can tell by your tone that you’re not taking me seriously.”

Victor hummed.

“Look," Yurio said, "I understand that you disapprove of some of my practices, but there’s nothing wrong with providing exit visas to refugees.”

“For a price, Yurio.”

“Everything has a price. At least my prices are better than Christophe’s.”

“Does this conversation have a price?” 

Yurio faltered. The way Victor was able to read him was unnerving. He collected himself and continued: “This conversation is a good-bye. You won’t have to worry about me or my business again. I’m leaving Casablanca.”

“Oh?” Victor smirked.

“Yes.” Yurio gritted his teeth. “And I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

Yurio reached into his suit and pulled out a crumpled manila envelope. “This envelope contains letters of transit that grant the power to travel anywhere on German-controlled soil. Every refugee in the city has their eyes on these. These letters can’t be repealed by the German, either. Hell, they can’t even be questioned. Tonight, I’m going to sell them for all their worth and then I’m getting the hell out of Casablanca.” Yurio pressed the butt of his cigarette into the ash tray. “I need you to watch them for me.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Victor picked up the envelope, weighing it in his hands. “How long?”

“I’ll be back for them before the end of the night.”

Victor nodded. After a moment, he tucked the envelope into his jacket. Yurio’s original smirk returned. “Victor, I hope this has impressed you. Getting those letters wasn’t easy. It took a particularly inspired person.”

“Inspired?”

“You know what I say. If you don’t have any inspiration left, you’re as good as dead."

“Yes, I suppose so,” Victor said. “Yurio, have you heard the rumor that those German couriers were carrying letters of transit?”

Yurio hesitated and lit another cigarette. “That might sound familiar.” He paused and motioned to the waiter. “Waiter, I’m conducting some business tonight, so if anyone is looking for me send them here, alright?”

They both stood up to leave. “You know, Yurio, you do seem particularly inspired today. I am a little more impressed with you.” Dumbstruck, Yurio watched Victor as he swept out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The mood in the club was set by the smooth singing voice of Kenjiro Minami sizzling around the room. His hands twirled down the piano as he played, a grin following him wherever he went. The room was vibrating with energy. This may be why nobody noticed Victor slip the envelope under the cover of the piano.

Victor found himself a spot in the room. As he watched Kenjiro play, he felt a personal sense of pride towards his old friend’s talent. These thoughts were interrupted by a sharp: “Ahem!”

“Have you thought about it more?” a shrill voice questioned.

Victor chuckled. “I’ve told you that it’s not for sale.” He turned around to face Minako, the owner of the Blue Parrot, a rival club in the area.

“But you haven’t even heard my offer.” Minako pouted, running her finger down Victor’s arm. She leaned into his ear. “I promise that it’s really good.”

Victor shifted away and gave her a polite smile. “It’s not for sale at any price.”

Minako stiffened. “Fine. What about Kenjiro? How much for him?

“I don’t buy or sell human beings.”

“That’s a shame, Victor. A man like you could have it made.” She stood up, still eyeing Kenjiro. “How about we ask Kenjiro what he’d like to do?”

“Sure, why not.” 

They went over to the piano, each walking with more flair than necessary. 

“Kenjiro,” Victor asked, “would you like to go and work for Minako at the Blue Parrot?”

“No, I could never leave your cafe, Victor. I like it too much here.”

“I’ll double what he pays you,” Minako snapped.

“I’m too busy to spend what he pays me, anyway.”

“Sorry.” Victor spun on his heels and left out the door, whistling as he walked. It was nighttime now in Casablanca, and the city was asleep. It was the kind of clear and fresh night that becomes stale after too long. Victor felt as if he was standing on top of Mount Olympus, watching the mortals below, jealous of their ability to sleep. A beacon light from the airport shone on him, and he used the beam to watch himself light a cigarette. Kenjiro had started playing again, and Victor could hear him from where he stood. The only other sounds to be heard were the airplanes in constant flight to and from the city. The planes’ shadows were felt all over the city — but whether they were felt as a refreshing shade or as an oppressive darkness was to be determined by the people.

A sound brought Victor down from the mountain. “Hello, Victor.”

“Hello, Christophe. It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” 

“It’s always a beautiful night at your club.” Christophe motioned for Victor to come sit with him under the umbrella table. Victor sat down and offered him a smoke. Silence fell over them as a plane flew over their heads, covering them in darkness. “There goes another plane to Lisbon.” Christophe adjusted his captain’s hat. “Would you like to be on that plane, Victor?”

“What’s for me in Lisbon?” 

“A flight to America.” 

Victor made a noncommittal noise and exhaled a puff of smoke.

“I sometimes wonder why you haven’t left Casablanca yet,” Christophe said. “Did you run off with the senator’s wife? Did you dishonor your family at an ice skating competition? I like to think that you killed a man. It’s the romantic in me.”

Victor let out a hearty laugh. “It was an combination of all three.”

“And what could have possibly brought you to Casablanca?”

“My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.”

“Waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.”

“I was misinformed,” Victor replied. Christophe shook his head and chuckled. A worried-looking employee rushed towards Victor. 

“Monsieur Victor, I am so, so sorry. A gentleman inside has won twenty thousand francs and the cashier needs money to pay him. Please forgive me, Monsieur, I should have —” 

“Don’t worry,” Victor interrupted. “Mistakes like this happen all the time. I’ll go get it from the safe.” He motioned for Christophe to follow him and they traveled inside. Victor led Christophe and the employee to his office. The room was decorated in as grandiose a fashion as the rest of the club was, with rich mahogany wood and lavish artwork adorning the walls. Victor reached into the safe and pulled out the money, offering it to the employee. Sheepishly, he muttered out several more apologies and took the money downstairs. After closing the door, Victor directed his attention towards the French captain. 

“Christophe, I see that you have something on your mind. I’ll pour you a brandy, and you can go ahead and sit down.”

“Ah, observant as always, Victor,” Christophe said as he relaxed into the couch on the far side of the room. “I actually did want to tell you that there’s going be a show here tonight. We’re making a special arrest in your cafe. It’s an arrest for the murderer of the German couriers. We could have made the arrest earlier, at Fräulein Minako’s cafe, but out of respect for you, I wanted to stage it here. I’m sure it will entertain your customers.”

“Out of respect for me? My dear, you’re too kind.” Victor wore a strange, steely expression. “But Kenjiro is entertainment enough for my guests.”

“Yes.” Christophe hesitated. “I’m sure he is. Anyways, the very important Major Yakov Feltsman  of the Third Reich will be here tonight and I want him to see the efficiency of my leadership firsthand.”

“Major Yakov?” Victor said. “What reason could he have for coming here? I’m certain he didn’t come to Casablanca just to see this demonstration of your efficiency.”

“I suppose not.” Christophe took a deep sip of his brandy. “Victor, I’d like give you some advice.”

“Yes?”

“It has been known to us that exit visas are sold at your cafe for quite a while, but we have allowed you to keep it open with the knowledge that you yourself have never sold one. A man is coming to Casablanca on his way to America, and he is stopping by your cafe with the intention of buying an exit visa. This man is willing to pay a fortune for one.”

“Who is he?”

“Phichit Chulanont.”

“Phichit Chulanont?” For the first time that night, Victor’s face portrayed a genuine reaction.

“Why, Victor! I can’t say I’ve ever seen you this impressed.”

“Phichit Chulanont has succeeded in impressing half of the world. He’s somehow escaped from a concentration camp and has Nazis after him from all over the world.”

“Yes, and it’s my job to see that he can’t impress the other half. Phichit must never make it to America. He is going to stay in Casablanca.”

A small smile spread on Victor’s lips as he examined his untouched glass of brandy. “It’ll be interesting to see how he manages.”

“Manages what?” 

“His escape.”

Christophe frowned. “I just told you that Phichit will be staying in Casablanca.”

“Twenty thousand francs says he won’t.”

“Is that a serious offer?”

Victor sat on the couch next to Christophe and leaned into his ear. “I just paid out twenty, and I’d like to earn it back.”

Christophe turned to face him. “Make it ten and you’ve got yourself a bet.”

“Deal.”

“Good.” Christophe downed the rest of his brandy. “Phichit may be clever, but he still needs to purchase an exit visa. Or should I say, two.”

Victor stood up to refill the other man’s brandy. “Two?”

“Yes, he has another man he’s traveling with.”

“I’m sure he’ll settle for one.”

“I doubt that. I’ve seen them together, and —” Christophe looked at Victor. “They seem very close. If he hasn’t already left him in Marseilles or Oran, he definitely won’t be leaving him in Casablanca.”

“Maybe he’s not quite as romantic as you are,” Victor said, handing Christophe another drink.

Christophe chuckled and batted Victor away. “That may be true, but it’s beside the point. He won’t be able to buy an exit visa here anyway, right?”

“Is that an accusation, Christophe?” Victor smiled. “Why would I have any interest in helping Phichit escape?”

“Because, Victor, despite what you may want others to believe, I know that you secretly love helping the underdog.” 

Victor quirked an eyebrow and went to put the brandy away. 

“Mock me if you will,” Christophe continued, “but I’ve seen your record. In thirty-five you ran guns to Ethiopia and in thirty-six, you fought Spain on the Loyalist side. You may argue that you were paid well to do this, but we both know that the winning sides would have paid you much better.”

“Well,” Victor called from the liquor cabinet. “I can tell you’re set on keeping Phichit in Casablanca.

“I have my orders.”

Victor let out an innocent hum. “Ah, I see. The Gestapo have gotten to you.”

Christophe bristled. “You overestimate the power of the Gestapo. I don’t interfere with them and they don’t interfere with me. In Casablanca I am master of my fate. I am choreographer of my own routine. I am Captain of my —” 

Suddenly, one of Christophe’s aides entered through the door. “Sir, Major Yakov is waiting for you downstairs.”

Victor looked back at him pointedly. “You were saying?” 

Christophe muttered an “excuse me” and hurried out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Yurio could see two French officers approaching him out of the corner of his eye. He nervously started towards the exit. It was blocked by more officers. Yurio began to sweat. He sat back down, occupying himself by lighting another cigarette.

“Monsieur Yurio?” a deep voice asked.

Yurio coughed from the cigarette smoke. “Can I help you, officers?” 

“Please come with us.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” Yurio mumbled. “Just let me grab something.” He bent over, pretending to pick something up. While on the ground, he took a pistol out of his pocket and used it to hit the officer in the shin. Then he stood up and shot the gun into the air, distracting the other officers. Frantically, he ran up the stairs towards Victor’s office, firing his gun at the officers behind him as he went. He broke through the door and found Victor sitting at his desk. Yurio rushed over to him and grabbed his shoulders. 

“Victor, Victor, please,” he cried. “You have to help me, please!” Snot dripped from his nose onto Victor’s Swarovski crystal glasses.

Victor stared at him in shock. “Yurio, I —” 

The officers stormed in, restraining Yurio and tossing his gun aside.

“Victor, help me! Do something!” 

Victor watched as the officers dragged Yurio away. Slowly, he lowered himself into his office chair. Distant shouts of “Victor!” came from the main level. The front door slammed. 

He shuddered. There was nothing he could have done.

Yurio was gone.

Victor massaged his temples and stared at his shoes. There was nothing he could have done. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, burning himself on the embers. “Shit,” he mumbled, pressing the stub into a silver ash tray. After collecting himself, he climbed down the stairs to the club. Frightened faces met him. 

“I apologize for the disturbance, everybody,” Victor said. “I promise you there’s nothing to worry about, it’s all over now.” He gave the crowd a reassuring smile. “How about some music, Kenjiro?”

Kenjiro nodded and began playing again. The buzz of the crowd gradually resumed. Victor shook his head to himself. 

There was nothing he could have done.

Between his schmoozing and champagne pouring, Christophe called Victor over to the table that he shared with Major Yakov. With a sigh, Victor went to join them. As he got closer, he began to overhear their conversation —

“We located the man who murdered your couriers, Major, and what you just saw was his arrest.”

Major Yakov let out a brusk, “Good,” and continued surveying the room.

Christophe frowned slightly at the Major’s lack of enthusiasm. “Ah, yes. Well, here’s the club’s owner, Mr. Victor Nikiforov. Victor, meet Major Yakov Feltsman of the Third Reich.”

Victor gave the Major a nod. “How do you do, Major Yakov? I hope that you’re enjoying the cafe.”

“It’s fine, yes,” Major Yakov said. “Please join us, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Victor plastered a smile onto his face and sat down. “Please, Major, call me Victor.”

Major Yakov grunted in response. 

Christophe interjected, “We feel very honored tonight to have Major Yakov with us, Victor. He’s one of the reasons that the Third Reich is so successful today. This is why I feel so fortunate that he could witness the arrest of —”

“So, Mr. Nikiforov,” Major Yakov interrupted, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions about yourself?”

Victor hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I’m always willing to answer questions about myself, Major.” He gave a charming smile. “It’s a topic that I happen to know a great deal about.” Christophe let out a boisterous laugh while the Major remained stoic.

“Is it true that you came here from Paris at the time of the German invasion?” Major Yakov asked.

“Yes,” Victor replied. “That’s no secret.”

“Did you leave because you couldn’t imagine your precious Paris under German rule?”

“It isn’t exactly my Paris,” Victor said.

Major Yakov locked eyes with Victor. “Who do you think will win the war, then?”

Victor leaned back in his chair, pondering the question. “You know, Major Yakov, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Christophe inserted himself into the conversation. “Victor is completely neutral on everything.” He nudged Victor’s arm. “And that includes the field of women, too.”

Major Yakov ignored Christophe. “You weren’t always so neutral, Victor. We happen to have a complete dossier on you.” He took a small black book from his suit pocket and began to read. “Victor Nikiforov, an American of Russian descent. Unable to return to his country.” Major Yakov looked back up at Victor. “The reason for this is a little vague, but we know what you did in Paris, Mr. Nikiforov — and, consequently, we know why you left Paris.”

With a flourish, Victor took the book from Major Yakov's hands and lay it out on the table. Then he withdrew a black ballpoint pen from his pocket and sprawled some writing out onto the page, smiling to himself as he wrote. Major Yakov squinted over Christophe’s head in an attempt to see what Victor was writing. “Here you go.” Victor returned the journal to the Major. “I figured you would want my autograph as well.” 

Major Yakov looked down at the loopy signature on the page in front of him. “Yes, well —” He hesitated. “You’ll excuse my curiosity, Mr. Nikiforov, but I need you to be aware of this.” He closed the book. “An enemy of the Reich has come to Casablanca, and we are checking on anyone who may be a help to us. Or a hinderance.”

Victor glanced towards Christophe. “My interest in Phichit is just for sport.”

“In that case, you have no sympathy towards the cause?”

“Not particularly.” 

Major Yakov furrowed his brows. “Phichit Chulanont published foul propaganda in the Prague newspapers until the day we marched in. And even after, he continued to print scandal sheets in a cellar. He’s slipped through our fingers three times. In Paris he continued this irreverence.” Major Yakov tightened his lips. “I intend to not let it happen again.”

“Of course, of course.” Victor rose from the table. “Well, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me I had better get back to managing the club.” He kissed his fingertips in adieu and nodded towards Major Yakov. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here.”

“Good evening, Mr. Nikiforov.” Major Yakov watched Victor as he walked away. 

“You see, Major,” Christophe said. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”

“Perhaps.” Major Yakov tucked the black book back into his pocket. “Or perhaps not.”


	4. Chapter 4

Two young gentlemen walked into the club. The shorter of the two looked around the room self-assuredly before gesturing for the other man to follow him. The taller man didn’t seem so confident. He looked around nervously and fidgeted with his glasses before following. For him, it was hard to feel invisible in a place like this. Proving his point, women in the club began to notice him. He avoided their eye contact as they trailed their fingers across their collarbones, playing with their pearls and winking at him as he passed. He gulped. “I feel like we shouldn’t stay here. It seems dangerous.”

“We can’t leave so soon,” the shorter man said. “I’m sure Yurio is somewhere around here.” He approached a waiter. “Excuse me, sir. I believe I have a table reserved for Phichit Chulanont.”

“Yes, right this way, sir.” The waiter led them to a table across from Major Yakov’s table. 

Christophe’s eyes widened. “Major, they’re here.” 

Major Yakov nodded at Christophe, taking a small sip of champagne.

Christophe made his way over to their table, approaching Phichit from behind and leaning down to speak into his ear. “Monsieur Phichit, is it?” 

Phichit jumped, spinning around to see Christophe staring at him. “Yes, this is he.”

“Ah, good,” Christophe said. “I am Captain Giacometti, Prefect of Police.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Phichit gave a nervous chuckle. “And what can I help you with?”

“I merely want to welcome you to Casablanca and wish you a pleasant stay.” Christophe looked between the two men seated in front of him. “It’s not everyday that we welcome such distinguished visitors.”

Phichit glanced at his companion before smiling at Christophe. “Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive me, Captain. It’s just that the French administration has not always been so welcoming.” He gestured towards the other man. “May I introduce you to my friend, Mr. Yuri Katsuki.”

Christophe grinned at Yuri. “It’s a pleasure to be of your acquaintance. I was warned that all the women in the club would be after you, but I now see that was a gross understatement.”

Yuri offered an embarrassed smile.

“Won’t you join us, Captain?” Phichit said.

“I would be honored.” Christophe sat down and called the waiter over. “Waiter, a bottle of your best champagne, please, and put it on my bill.”

“Oh, please, Captain,” Phichit said. “That’s much too generous.”

“No, Monsieur. It’s part of a little game we play.” Christophe winked. “They put it on the bill, and I tear up the bill. It’s very convenient.”

Yuri began to look around the room. There seemed to be no place to hide. The room was completely filled with people, and outside the cafe wasn’t much better. They were surrounded by miles and miles of endless sand. A beacon of light traced the city at night, and citizens were rewarded for divulging information about criminal activity. It was a miracle anyone got anything done. Then again, people in here seemed to know how to protect themselves. They were padded with bills and their necks were covered with cashmere. To Yuri it seemed that threats were everywhere. Even the jewels hanging from the lamp shades seemed sinister. They were probably blood diamonds, after all.

Yuri’s thoughts were interrupted as he noticed the piano player on the opposite side of the room. He looked — familiar.

“Captain,” Yuri spoke softly. “The boy playing the piano. Is it possible I’ve seen him somewhere?”

“You mean, Kenjiro? He came here from Paris with Victor.”

Yuri squinted at the captain. “Victor? Who is he?”

Christophe smiled. “Why, Monsieur, you are in Victor’s cafe right now. Victor is —”

Yuri’s voice trembled. “Victor is what?”

“Well, Monsieur, he’s the kind of man that, if I were a woman, I should imagine I would be in love with him.” Christophe laughed at Yuri’s shocked face. “But what a fool I am for talking to another man about such things, no?”

Major Yakov came up to the table. Christophe jumped to his feet. “Excuse me,” Christophe said to Yuri, and turned towards Major Yakov. “Hello, Major. Monsieur Phichit, Monsieur Yuri — may I introduce to you, Major Yakov of the Third Reich.”

Major Yakov gave the men a cold nod. “How do you do?”

“Excuse me if this is impolite, but” — Phichit narrowed his eyes — “as you can see, Major, I am on French soil now and the German Reich cannot intimidate me.”

“A man who gets to the point.” Major Yakov quirked the corner of his mouth. “I respect that.” He cleared his throat. “I would like to discuss the matter of you being on French soil.”

“I do not wish to discuss anything with you here, Major.”

“Fine,” Major Yakov said. “Then we will find another place to discuss the matter — tomorrow, at ten, in the Prefect’s office. Bring Monsieur Yuri, as well.”

Phichit turned to Christophe. “I am under your authority, Captain. Is this your order?”

Christophe smiled and clasped his hands together. “Let’s say that it is my request.”

“Very well.”

The Major nodded and began to leave.

Christophe followed his lead. “Until I see you again, Monsieurs.”

Once they were out of earshot, Christophe grinned. “A very clever tactical retreat, Major.” Major Yakov glared at him as they left Yuri and Phichit alone. 

Phichit exhaled and relaxed into his chair. “They really want to stop me this time, Yuri.”

“Phichit, I’m afraid for you,” Yuri said. 

“We’ve been in tough situations before, haven’t we?” 

Yuri gave him a small smile. Phichit grabbed Yuri’s hand and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Yurio will be here soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

A Spanish coloratura had taken the stage. Her presence painted the room in vibrant reds, golds, and greens. A string of jewels draped around her shoulders and down her back, coming to rest at her waist. She looked out at the room through heavy-lidded eyes, strumming a smooth arpeggio on her guitar. Her performance was the kind of performance that makes a person want to rest on someone else’s shoulders. It was the kind of music that distracts you, or at least tries to.

Phichit sat with Yuri at their table, billowing cigarette smoke from his mouth. His attention bounced between his cigarette and the clock. The cafe would be closing soon and there was still no sign of Yurio. He was starting to get nervous. Phichit looked towards the bar and noticed a man with a cheap suit and a nervous energy drinking alone. The man gestured for him to come over. Phichit squeezed Yuri’s hand. “Yuri, I’m going to go talk to that man over there at the bar.”

“Please be safe,” Yuri said.

Phichit gave Yuri a small smile and left.

The bar was empty except for Phichit and the other man. Phichit slid into the stool next to him and ordered a champagne cocktail. “I think I may have been told about you.” He took a sip and tried to appear nonchalant. “Are you Hisashi Morooka?”

“Yes, I am.” Hisashi looked around the room and lowered his voice. “I recognize your face from all the news articles, Monsieur Phichit.”

Phichit smiled. “I’m sure I look a bit different now.” He ducked his head. “Concentration camps have a way of making a man lose weight.”

“Even so, I almost couldn’t believe that you were able to come here,” Hisashi said. “We’ve read five different times that you’ve been killed in five different places.” 

“Ah, yes.” Phichit smiled. “And if anyone asks, that’s true.” His tone lowered again. “I’m just thankful that I’ve found you. I’m looking for a man named Yurio. He’s supposed to help me.”

Hisashi blinked for a moment before shaking his head. “Yurio can’t even help himself, Monsieur. He was arrested for murder here tonight by the French police.”

Phichit’s eyes widened. He tightened his grip on his champagne glass and a puff of cool air escaped from his mouth. “I see.”

Hisashi put a hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “Those of us who are still free will do whatever we can, Monsieur. We are organized underground like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the Caverne du Bois, and we would be honored to have you.” The men quieted as they saw Christophe approaching the bar. Hisashi jumped away from Phichit and took a deep sip from his drink.

“Hello.” Christophe arrived, leaning against the bar and looking between Hisashi and Phichit. “How are you doing, Hisashi?”

Hisashi fumbled with his jacket and rose from his stool. “Fine, fine. Er, please excuse me, gentlemen.” 

Now Phichit and Christophe were alone. “A busy man, that Hisashi.” Christophe eased into the seat next to Phichit. “It’s too bad you weren’t here earlier.” He trailed his finger along the table. “We had quite a bit of excitement.” 

Phichit chuckled nervously. The singer finished her song with a final strum of her guitar.

Over on the other side of the room, Yuri eyed Kenjiro as he played. After working up his courage, he motioned to a waiter. “Waiter, could you tell the piano player to bring his piano over here?” The waiter nodded.

Kenjiro wheeled his piano over, whistling while he walked. As he approached Yuri, the melody on his lips froze. He recognized the man who had asked for him, right when it was too late to go back. Slowly, he sat down and began to play, avoiding eye contact with Yuri.

“Hello, Kenjiro.” 

“Hello, Mister Yuri.” Kenjiro kept his eyes on the dark piano wood in front of him.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yuri sighed. “Would you play some of the old songs, Kenjiro?”

Kenjiro nodded. His hands shook as he played.

They sat like that for a moment, each working up the courage to ask the question they both knew was coming. Finally, Yuri opened his mouth. “Kenjiro, where’s Victor?”

Kenjiro hesitated. “He’s not here tonight.”

“Oh.” Yuri adjusted his cuff link. “When will he be back?”

“Uhm,” Kejiro stuttered, “not anytime soon, I don’t think. He’s not coming — I think he went home.”

“Does he always leave this early?”

“Oh, he never leaves this early.” Kenjiro swallowed. “Well, he’s got a girl up at the Blue Parrot. He goes up there all the time to visit her.”

Yuri closed his eyes. “You used to be a much better liar, Kenjiro.”

Kenjiro stopped playing and faced him. “Please leave him alone, Yuri. You’re bad luck to him!”

Yuri flinched. He sat quietly for a moment, grasping at something to say. “Will you play our song, Kenjiro? For old time’s sake?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kenjiro said stiffly.

“Play it, Kenjiro.” Yuri gave Kenjiro a small smile. “Play ‘As Time Goes By.’”

“I can’t remember it, Yuri. It’s been too long since I last played it.”

“Let me hum it for you, then.” Yuri began to hum the melody. The notes fell like syrup, dripping into the quiet and slowing down time. The tune brought both of them back to the older days. The days of freshly cut roses and gentle city air, where champagne always sparkled and glasses never shattered. Days spent in a little apartment next to the stairs, accompanied by endless piano sonatas and promises strung together by gossamer thread. 

All of their old promises.

Kenjiro took a deep breath and began to play the song very softly. First the twinkling high notes, then easing into the strapping lower notes.

“Sing it, Kenjiro. Sing it for me, please.”

Kenjiro sang —

_You must remember this_

_A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh._

_The fundamental things apply_

_As time goes by._

Yuri closed his eyes, letting the familiar melody wash over him.

_And when two lovers woo_

_They still say, ‘I love you.’_

_On that you can rely_

_No matter what the future brings_

_As time goes by._

Victor stormed out of the gambling room, looking for the source of the music. He walked briskly over to the piano, his cheeks flushed in anger. “Kenjiro, I thought I told you to never play —” He stopped. 

For the first time in quite a long time, Victor was surprised.

Kenjiro immediately stopped playing, landing on a dissonant chord. He quickly rose and wheeled his piano away, leaving the scene. The two men stared at each other, stunned into silence. Chatter in the club went on. As usual, the later the night got, the more people spilled their drinks and lost control, roaming around the club and falling into each other like magnets. None of this noise mattered. Time may have gone by, but not for Victor or Yuri. Not in that moment.

Christophe and Phichit walked over to the table. “Ah, Monsieur,” Christophe said. “You were asking about Victor and here he is. May I introduce you to —”

“Hello, Yuri.” Victor attempted to maintain an indifferent tone.

“Hello, Victor.” Yuri eyes flitted between Victor’s, looking for some kind of expression.

“I see that you two must have already met.” Christophe motioned towards Phichit. “Then it’s possible that you’ve already met —”

Yuri interrupted, seeming to remember himself. “This is Phichit.”

Victor gave him a absentminded nod. “How do you do?”

“Fine, and you?” Phichit looked between Victor and Yuri, confused by the strange tension between them. He directed his attention back towards Victor. “Everyone in Casablanca talks about you, Victor.”

Victor smiled, noticing Phichit for the first time. “Everyone all over the world talks about you, Phichit.”

Phichit chuckled. “Won’t you join us for a drink?”

“Yes, of course.” Victor quickly pulled a chair out and sat down in the spot next to Yuri.

“I have to congratulate you on owning such a wonderful cafe,” Phichit said.

“Yes.” Victor glanced over at Phichit and tipped his head. “And I congratulate you.”

“For my work?” Phichit said, and Victor nodded. “Thank you. I try.”

“We all try.” Victor went back to looking at Yuri. “You succeed.”

Christophe butted in. “You know, Victor” — he motioned to Yuri — “he was asking about you earlier in a way that made me terribly jealous.”

Yuri lowered his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you were the same. The last time we met —”

“That was ‘La Belle Aurore,’” Victor said.

“Right.” Yuri bit the corner of his lip and looked up at Victor. “You remember.” He furrowed his brows slightly. “Of course you remember. That was the day that the Germans marched into Paris.”

“Yes, I remember.” Victor leaned closer to Yuri. “I remember every detail. The Germans wore grey, you wore blue.”

Yuri blushed. “I put that suit away. When the Germans march out, I’ll wear it again.”

Christophe interrupted with a chuckle. “Victor, you’re becoming quite human. I’m sure we have you to thank for that, Monsieur Yuri.”

Phichit observed the spectacle in front of him. He didn’t quite understand it, and he didn't think that he wanted to, either. He cleared his throat. “I hate to be the one to break up the party, but it’s getting late. We should probably leave.”

Christophe checked his watch. “Ah, so it is. How the time flies when you have such beautiful company.” He winked at Yuri. “We do have a curfew here in Casablanca. It would be unprecedented for the Chief of Police to have to fine himself for drinking at all hours.”

Victor and Yuri continued to stare at each other. Phichit was becoming uncomfortable. “I hope we didn’t overstay our welcome,” he said to Victor.

“No, not at all.” Victor’s attention was still focused on Yuri. “It’s been delightful having you.” The waiter came by with the check. “Please, allow me.” Victor reached over to sign it.

Christophe raised an eyebrow. “Victor paying the check? This has been a very interest evening, indeed.” He smiled at Yuri and Phichit. “I’ll go call you two a cab.” Christophe winked towards Victor, who was too preoccupied to notice.

“I’m sure that we’ll come again soon.” Phichit stood up.

Yuri stood, too. “Will you say goodnight to Kenjiro for me?”

“Of course I will, Yuri,” Victor replied.

Victor watched as Yuri’s lips spread into a smile. “Nobody else in the entire world can play ‘As Time Goes By’ like Kenjiro can,” Yuri said.

Victor bit the inside of his cheek. “He hasn’t played it in a long time.”

“Well,” Phichit went in to shake Victor’s hand. “Goodnight. Thank you again.”

Yuri gave Victor a small smile. “Yes, goodnight, Victor.”

“Goodnight to the both of you.” Victor watched them leave as he lowered himself into a chair. He shook his head, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Was there any order in this world? He lit a cigarette.

Outside the cafe, Yuri and Phichit waited for their taxi. 

“Victor is an interesting man, isn’t he?” Phichit questioned.

Yuri fidgeted with his glasses. “I guess you could say that — I don’t really know.” He quickened his pace.

Christophe waved at them as they left. “Remember,” he shouted. “Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect’s office!”

“We’ll be there!” Phichit shouted back as they entered the cab. Christophe watched as they drove towards the city. He shook his head and took a generous puff from his cigarette. The neon sign above the door turned off.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ soulsalsa.tumblr.com
> 
> My dad says that if I get to 200,000 kudos he'll look me in the eye.


End file.
